Great Catastrophe
The Great Catastrophe is the name given by the Lizardmen to the First Chaos Incursion to the world, which took place between -5600 IC and -4420 IC. This event is also known as the Coming of Chaos and the Great Cataclysm. Origins It was during the time of the mysterious Old Ones that the Daemons of Chaos first descended upon the mortal realm. The Old Ones were the architects of the world, able to twist the fabric of space and time to their will, and summon vast energies to be manipulated in the form of devastating magical spells. The Old Ones were beings of order and near-omnipotence, but it is unknown when they first detected the impending disaster, or if they realised its magnitude. Although they tapped into the energies of the realm beyond their portals, they had always struggled to contain that power - and soon found themselves embattled by the forces of that impossible dimension. Having glimpsed some future portent, it is probable that the races the Old Ones created were intended to fight against the creatures from the Realm of Chaos. After the Lizardmen, the first of the newly created races was the Elves, and they learned the lore of magic in the lap of the gods themselves. The Dwarfs soon followed, although their magic was insular and intrinsic to their craftsmanship. As the pressures of their cosmic war intensified, the Old Ones created the prolific and adaptable race of Man, and, seemingly in haste, finally the Halflings and the Ogres were risen up from the lesser things that roamed the world. The Coming of Chaos Disaster came suddenly. Whether due to enemy attacks or structural failure, the Old Ones’ great polar gates, the means by which they traversed the stars, collapsed upon themselves. The eldritch machineries of the gates crashed down upon the world in a burning hail of star-metal. Simultaneously, the poles of the world imploded, opening rifts into the beyond. Chaos spewed forth from the spirit realm. Meteors of congealed magic, a substance known as warpstone, left weirdling contrails that set the skies aflame. The planet shuddered under thunderous impacts, with some meteorites burrowing like animals, gnawing deep into the world’s foundation. A layer of warpstone dust was cast into the air, its mutating properties causing untold atrocities. Across the globe, the seas churned and the forest canopies shook, convulsing with grotesque growth. Where the northern gateway had once been, there now throbbed a second moon, a green satellite made of pure warpstone -- Morrslieb. Many cries were lifted to that sickly orb, as hideously twisted creatures were born, howling in their agony. Where once there were gates there were now gaping wounds in the fabric of reality, portals through which the dread masters of Chaos gazed, manipulating the lands of mortals. Rather than fight against these immortal and omniscient essences, the Men that lived in the shadow of the northern gate began to worship them as deities. Of all the races that dwelt in the world, humans were the most susceptible to the lures of Chaos; the most eager to pursue the path of damnation for unimaginable power. Daemonic hordes ran rampant across the lands and many primitive tribes of men made alliances with the unholy invaders. Thus were the first Warriors of Chaos born, and civilizations were humbled before their mighty onslaught. It was during this catastrophe that the first true creatures of Chaos began to appear. Hippogryphs, Chimeras, Manticores, Griffons and their like stalked the lands, descended from normal creatures warped by the magical energies now poisoning the world. The Beastmen came too; depraved men that had reverted to their bestial subconscious, their bodies warped to reflect their animalistic desires, and beasts that had mutated to walk on their hind legs in the form of men. In the marshes of the north of what would become the nation of Tilea, intelligent misshapen rat-things began burrowing and plotting, digging beneath the world in secret, unseen and unknown. As their portals collapsed, the Old Ones disappeared, their fate unknown. Yet the disaster could have been worse, if the Old Ones’ most powerful servants, the Slann, had not staved off complete destruction by sealing much of the rent in reality. So great was the strain of that undertaking that half of their number were slain — their brains melted by the incongruity of Chaos. Despite their sacrifice, the Slann could only shrink the gap; they could neither close it nor stem the tide of magical energy that swept the planet. The Old Ones were gone, and the Lizardmen and the fledgling races were now abandoned before a new and diabolical foe. The World Besieged In the wake of the clouds of magic came the daemonic legions of the Chaos Gods. They crystallised out of the swirling madness, materialising in numbers beyond count. Each Daemon was a powerful facet of its master, an unnatural being that burned with the urge to destroy. And so the war for the mortal realm was begun. Faced with annihilation, the remaining Slann rallied, mustering armies the sizes of which have never been seen in the world since. The Daemons attacked everywhere, but the Lizardmen bore the brunt of the attack. What followed was a series of terrible wars, titanic clashes that spanned continents, lasted centuries and claimed untold lives. The Saurus met the daemonic tide, able to match their ferocity and return it in kind, but the might of the Lizardmen did not rest solely with its armies. The Slann, atop their pyramid-temples, gathered the rampant magical energies to fuel spells of unprecedented destruction. They gulped in the magic-infused air and belched forth firestorms, unleashed tidal waves, or split the earth asunder to lay waste to the invaders. In the war’s opening stages, the Slann proved more powerful than even the most magically adept of the Daemons. However, as the Chaos energies and unending reinforcements continued to flood into the world, the balance began to shift. As the Chaos energies ebbed stronger, the Slann felt their powers dim, their spells growing harder to control. Even a minute error while manipulating magical forces resulted in horrific mishap — many Slann suffered mind-shredding backlashes or were lost to their own incandescent miscues. While the unconstrained Winds of Magic sapped the Slann, it conversely invigorated the Daemons, for they were born of the unnatural stuff and could readily shape it for their own use. As the magical supremacy shifted, so too did the war. On the battlefields, titans made of pure fury smashed into the Saurus cohorts until the land was awash with blood. Plague monsters and beasts of living brass hurtled headlong into cold-blooded colossi, while above, flying reptiles battled batwinged behemoths for control of the skies. Despite mauling their daemonic foes, the Lizardmen were driven back. The Slann drew ever more upon their nexus of power, using its grounding to steady the unstable energies swirling around them. In desperation, they enchanted the jungle, turning their surroundings into a deathtrap full of carnivorous plants, living quicksand pits and teeming swarms of insects whose stings could crack Dragon scale. Rivers were redirected to impede the daemonic advance and volcanoes rose and erupted to slow their hellish progress. Yet still, the fell legions rampaged onwards. The Lizardmen withdrew to their temple-cities, bastions of order amongst a sea of Chaos. For a time, even the relentless minions of the Dark Gods were checked as the Lizardmen exacted a tremendous toll. Giant reptilian beasts waded into the tumult, crushing paths through the hellish hordes before being lost to sight beneath the writhing masses. Strange devices left by the Old Ones were unleashed, artefacts of power that melted away the opposition by the thousands. Heedless of their losses, the Daemons continued to batter away at the protective barriers conjured by the Slann to protect each temple-city. Eventually, the Daemons devised a way to breach the wards and Xahutec was the first to fall, its inhabitants slaughtered and its sky-scraping pyramids cast down. It began a chain reaction, weakening the magical barriers erected over each other temple-city in turn. So Huatl, Tlanxla, and Xhotl fell in quick succession. At Xhotl, the Slann Mage-Priests managed to hold out long enough to send warnings to the remaining cities, allowing them to employ suitable counterspells. The Daemons were stymied for a period, yet they were unrelenting. They devised new devilries to defeat each defence, unleashing a plague to overcome Chaqua, levelling Quezotec with the sonic barrage of a billion slaughtered souls in agony, and summoning shadowy tentacles to drag the great triangular temple-city of Zarmuda deep under the sea, where its force dome eventually cracked. After a thousand years of battle, only a handful of temple-cities stood, each a bastion protected by the greatest of the remaining Slann. The Defence of Itza At last the way was clear for the Daemons to besiege Itza, the First City and lynchpin of the Lizardmen’s arcane defences. Itza was under the protection of Lord Kroak, first of all Slann spawned upon the world and the mightiest of mages. The energy dome that surrounded Itza crackled with energy, turning Daemons to dust as they railed against it. Yet after years of strain, even Lord Kroak could sustain such mystic walls no longer, and with a final surge, he exploded the barrier outwards, flattening the surrounding jungle. A hundred thousand Daemons were banished in an instant. Nevertheless, the remainder swarmed into Itza. Of all that long war, no battle was more fiercely fought than the one amongst the streets of Itza. Only an epic stand by Lord Kroak’s army of Temple Guard prevented the Daemons from overrunning the Great Pyramid. For many days and nights, the elite Saurus warriors stood firm on the lofty Bridge of Stars. Using his reservoirs of energy, Lord Kroak prepared his final incantations. As the last of the Temple Guard was cut down, Lord Kroak spouted forth spells that were the preserve of gods, raining fire from the heavens to vaporise the foe. Time stood still as the fabric of the universe strained at the outpour of sheer power. Yet eventually even Lord Kroak succumbed. A dozen Bloodthirsters, protected by the favour of their dark god Khorne, fought through the deluge of spells and reached the top of the pyramid. There, they fell upon Lord Kroak’s form, ripping him apart in a savage instant. So overcharged with arcane energies was Lord Kroak that his spirit fought on, refusing to let even death hinder him. Set free of his flesh, Kroak’s radiant will soared above the ruins, scourging the invaders with a divine light that was like unto a second sun. The First City was saved. Although Itza was delivered, the war raged on. Across the globe, the younger races also faced the Daemon legions. Despite retreating to their mountain holds, the Dwarfs had been decimated. The Elves of Ulthuan suffered tremendous loss, but in the end, their mages enacted the Great Ritual - a spell that created a vast vortex that drained away swathes of the magic that flooded the world. Deprived of their lifeblood of magical energy, the Daemons disappeared back to their seething realm, yet the world was irrevocably damaged, now transformed into a world saturated with magic and monsters. The Doom of Grimnir According to the account in the Great Book of Grudges, the most ancient Dwarf book of lore, the coming of Chaos rent the earth and sky and tore the very mountains apart. Turbulent winds of multicoloured magic clouded the air. The Dwarfs maintain that Grungni warned his people that such a time might come, and he told them to take refuge deep beneath the mountains. There, they sheltered as the Winds of Magic erupted out of the north and scoured the world. When the tempest passed, it left in its wake a layer of dust that hastened corruption. When the Dwarfs emerged from their underground dwellings, they found the world a very changed place. Mutated beasts and rage-filled monstrosities prowled the mountains, but there was something even worse. During the great storm, Daemons had burst forth from the Realm of Chaos, and now they stalked the lands, seeking to slay all they found. It was not long before the mountain strongholds of the Dwarfs were ferociously assailed. The Daemons quickly found out that the Dwarfs were far from defenceless. Ancient tales tell how Grungni taught his people to inscribe magical runes onto their weapons and armour - allowing them to stand against the creatures of Chaos that assaulted them. Valaya used her protections to ward off the dark magic of their enemies, dampening their dread powers. It was Grimnir, equipped with two mighty axes and armour harder than the mountains themselves, who launched the counter-attack. With their blazing warrior god at the fore, the Dwarfs clove a path up and down the mountain range, killing so many of their foe that, for a time, the Worlds Edge Mountains were clear of Daemons. Grimnir himself pressed the attack, pursuing his enemy with a relentless fury that dimmed only when the last foe was slain. It was at this point that the Dwarfs first made contact with the Elves. A fleet of Elven warships, captained by Caledor Dragontamer, had been blown off course after a sea battle with a Chaos fleet. Caledor was a great mage, and he searched the coasts of the Old World, hoping to find clues to the source of the Chaos that was destroying the world. Instead, Caledor encountered a Dwarf army led by Grimnir himself, for they had pursued the remnants of a Daemon army and sought to slay the last of them. It was a pivotal moment in history, as one of the greatest and most subtle High Elf mages of all time met the brutal and mighty incarnate warrior god of the Dwarfs. What Grimnir made of the tall and haughty Elf mage is not recorded, nor is what Caledor thought of the tattooed Dwarf warlord. Both realised that they were not enemies, and the matter was settled when a force of Beastmen attacked. After a hastily agreed alliance, the foe was shattered by the combined might of Grimnir’s axes and Caledor’s spells. From Caledor, the Dwarfs learned of the great Phoenix King Aenarion and his struggle to free the distant island of Ulthuan from the grip of Chaos. From Grimnir, Caledor learned of the storm that burst from the north that had preceded the Daemons. The wise mage concluded that a Chaos gate had opened in the utmost north, a doorway between their world and the unimaginable Realm of Chaos. With this information, and their newly formed alliance, Caledor departed, in all likelihood already formulating the plan that would lead to the creation of a mighty vortex to suck the unleashed Chaos power out of the world. Upon Caledor’s departure, Grimnir presented him with a runic amulet of sovereign protective power. In return, Caledor gifted the Dwarf with the Crystal of Fire, an artefact that is kept, to this day, in the Great Vault of Karaz-a-Karak. The respite won by Grimnir and his armies was hard-won, but its duration was brief. Even as Grimnir headed back to the mountains, the skies grew ominous. Once more, the tide of Chaos rolled over the lands, the Daemon legions and their untold horrors destroying everything in their path. This time, the Daemons attacked in such great numbers that the heroism of Grimnir was not enough, and the Dwarfs were pressed backwards. Unable to hold their ground, the Dwarfs were eventually forced to retreat inside their strongholds. One by one, their mountain fortresses were besieged. Although they fought valiantly against the tide of Chaos, several holds fell to the unholy onslaught. Having heard Caledor’s theory of a Chaos gate, Grimnir decided to take action. Ignoring advice, he resolved to trek north and close the gate himself. Grungni told him he would surely die, but Grimnir snarled that it was worth the risk. The great warrior god ritually shaved his head, save for a single defiant crest. He gave one of his axes to his eldest son, Morgrim, and departed for the north. A party of Dwarfs, led by Morgrim, accompanied Grimnir to the edge of the wastes that lay to the north, fighting off many dangers just to reach this region. There, they at last turned back, watching in awe as Grimnir pressed onwards, his form dwindling into the shimmering haze of that poisoned land. Grimnir was never seen again, and no one knows what befell this most valiant of Dwarfs. Perhaps he was, at last, pulled down by an army of monsters. One tale affirms he fought his way to the mouth of the Chaos gate and held it against an army of Daemons even as Caledor completed his spell on Ulthuan. Perhaps an even stranger and more terrible doom overtook him? Of Grimnir’s fate, the Dwarfs do not speak, saying only that he fell in darkness long ago. In the end, Caledor’s spell drained the rampant magic from the lands, an act that banished the Daemons to the shadowy corners of the world. In an instant, the armies of unnatural creatures that surrounded each stronghold disappeared, and the Dwarfs emerged into the dawning of a whole new era. The Dwarf gods were gone; Grungni, Valaya and the lesser deities had disappeared. It is popularly believed that they returned to the mountains’ heart, going back from whence they came to emerge again some day when their people most need them. In the World's Edge Mountains, the Dwarfs prospered greatly, but of their kin in the north or from the Mountains of Mourn, they had no word. Aenarion and the Great Vortex of Caledor Aenarion was a wanderer who had travelled the length of the world, but who swiftly returned to Ulthuan in its time of need. Realising that the Elves could not stand long against the unfettered fury of Chaos, Aenarion battled his way through the land to the Shrine of Asuryan. There he offered himself to the sacred fire, and implored Asuryan to save his people. Asuryan made no response, but Aenarion held to his promise and cast himself into the white-hot flames -- yet Aenarion did not die that day. He emerged unscathed from the fires, transformed by Asuryan's divine will from mortal Elf to the first and mightiest of the Phoenix Kings. Aenarion began his reign with a truly auspicious victory. Outside the walls of the temple, he faced a howling Daemon horde whose black hearts were set on toppling the shrine, that the sacred fires were extinguished. With a single throw of his hunting spear, Aenarion slew the Daemon-lord who led the charge. Then, scarcely breaking step, he took up the Daemon's weapon and butchered the rest of that abominable host. Word of Aenarion's victory swiftly spread through Ulthuan. All Elvenkind took heart at his actions, and rallied to him even as the Daemons still reeled from the defeat. Caledor Dragontamer, the greatest wizard of the era, swore fealty to Aenarion, and together they trained the Elves in the art of battle. Whilst Aenarion bade the priests of Vaul forge mighty weapons of tempered ithilmar and steel, Caledor undertook the tutelage of his fellow mages, teaching them great sorceries to banish and destroy. Thus changed the Elves' fortunes. With Aenarion at their head, the children of Ulthuan took the fight to the Daemons, casting down their champions and hurling their armies back into the Realm of Chaos. For nearly a century, the war dragged on without respite or sign of victory, and the Elves began to lose heart. Moments of peace were few, and even these were tainted by the knowledge that the Daemons would soon return. Even the implacable Aenarion realised there could be no victory -- only a slow and inevitable defeat. Ultimately, it was Caledor, that wisest and most ancient of sorcerers, who would offer salvation. He devised a plan to create a cosmic vortex that would drain magic from the world, and with it the Daemons who rode upon its fury. It was a desperate plan, with little hope of success, but Caledor, and many like him, thought a last desperate gamble would be preferable to the slow death the Elf people were enduring. Aenarion opposed Caledor's plan, calling it the counsel of despair. Although in his heart he knew that the war was unwinnable, the Phoenix King was determined to put off the end for as long as possible, rather than risk Caledor's plan failing. Such were Aenarion's charisma and powers of reason, that he surely would have changed Caledor's mind entirely. Yet soon thereafter, Daemons overran Avelorn. Astarielle, Everqueen of Ulthuan and wife to Aenarion, was slain in the attack, and their children could not be found amongst the carnage. Upon hearing of his family's fate, Aenarion was overcome with terrible fury. He swore to kill every Daemon on the face of the world, and declared that he would travel to the Blighted Isle. Dread filled those who heard his words, for it could mean only one thing: Aenarion intended to draw forth the Widowmaker, a weapon of terrible power that had waited, embedded in the great black Altar of Khaine, since the beginning of time. As old as the world itself, it was the ultimate weapon, death itself made manifest -- a splinter of the fatal weapon forged for the death god Khaine, capable of slaying mortals and gods alike. All knew that to wield Khaine's blade was to invite death, damn your soul and doom your lineage forevermore. Upon learning of his liege's intent, Caledor beseeched Aenarion to relent, but he would not be dissuaded. Ignoring all warnings from mortal and immortal alike, Aenarion vaulted onto the back of Indraugnir, the greatest of the Dragons, and set off to the Blighted Isle. The journey was long and arduous and tested even Indraugnir's might. Winged Daemons assailed Elf and Dragon as they travelled, trying to turn Aenarion from his path. The Elf gods whispered warnings in Aenarion's ear, but if he heard, he paid no heed. Parting ways with Indraugnir just a few leagues from the Altar of Khaine, Aenarion walked towards his fate. It is said that even the ghost of his departed wife pleaded with him to turn back. Yet, as he stood before the altar, Aenarion hardened his heart and wrenched free the great blood-dripping weapon, sealing his fate, and that of his people. When Aenarion returned, those Elves most embittered by the war flocked to his side, and he created a kingdom in the dismal land of Nagarythe. There, to the surprise of everyone, he took another wife, the beautiful seeress Morathi. In time, Morathi bore him a second son, whom they named Malekith. Soon after, the court of Aenarion earned itself a dark reputation, and the Elves of other lands were reluctant to go there. Tales of cruelty at Aenarion's court began to spread across Ulthuan. Even Caledor led his Dragon-riders south to his own land. It is said that Caledor's departure angered Aenarion greatly, but the Daemons struck again before his wrath could bear fruit. Such was the size and ferocity of the daemonic attack that it became obvious to all but Aenarion that the war was lost and the world was doomed to eternal darkness. Caledor, fully aware of Aenarion's incipient madness, decided there was only one thing left he could do. He called together a convocation of the greatest High Elf sorcerers then living, and assembled them on the Isle of the Dead. With Caledor Dragontamer intent on performing the ritual, Aenarion was left with no choice. He assembled his forces and moved to defend the mages on the Isle of the Dead. At the centre of Ulthuan, the two armies met. Dragons, so numerous that their wings darkened the sky, descended upon the Chaos host. Elves and Daemons were slain in their thousands, and the death agonies of monsters filled the sea with foam. As the creation of the Great Vortex began, the seas churned and a terrible wind blew from the north. The skies darkened, and raw magic lashed the tortured earth. At the last, Aenarion, with only the faithful Indraugnir beside him, fought a bloody battle against four Greater Daemons of the Chaos Gods as they strove to breach Caledor's wards. It was a battle that no mortal could ever win, yet Aenarion's fury and determination that day set him amongst the ranks of the gods -- one by one, the foul creatures fell before the Sword of Khaine, though Aenarion was mortally wounded in return. While the battle raged, the High Elf sorcerers chanted the spell that would create the Great Vortex. Chain lightning flickered. The world shuddered. For a moment all was silent. Then the mountains shivered. Terrible energies pulsed between earth and sky. From the mountaintops, bolts of pure power leapt to converge over the Isle of the Dead. While Aenarion and his outnumbered army fought, the sorcerers struggled to complete their ritual with the hidden but unvaluable help of the Slann Mage-Priests of the Lizardmen. One by one they died, the weakest succumbing first as the magic they sought to control burned out their minds. Even as Aenarion defeated the four Daemons, the ritual was finally completed -- or at least partially so. The sorcerers had succeeded in opening a vortex to drain away the raging magic, but were trapped within it, eternally keeping it open, forever held in battle against Chaos. His foes defeated, but his body ruined, Aenarion climbed wearily upon the back of the wounded Indraugnir and made once more for the Blighted Isle. Barely managing to complete the journey, Indraugnir crashed to the ground on the shores of that dismal island. Trembling from fatigue and the terrible wounds to his ancient body, Indraugnir gave one last bellow of defiance and died. Alone, Aenarion crawled back to the Altar of Khaine. He knew that should anyone take the weapon of Khaine, they could rule the world, and so he thrust it back into the rock from whence it came. Then, it is said, he lay down beside the ravaged and torn bulk of his beloved steed and passed from that age of the world. The immediate effects of Caledor Dragontamer's ritual were a series of magical storms, earthquakes and tidal waves that ravaged the land for three days. Thousands died as the shores of Ulthuan were swept clear by monstrous waves, ships were sunk and the sky was split by lightning bolts. When the storms abated, though, the polar gates were sealed and the daemonic legions were gone. Ulthuan was a land in ruins, but at least it had a future. Other regions and races Little is known of the battles for the rest of the world before the creation of Caledor Dragontamer's Great Vortex, since the only races that keep records from that time were too busy defending their own homelands to register what was happening elsewhere. Although Dwarfs had settled Norsca during the Age of Ancestors, they were cut off entirely by the great Chaos storms. Apart for so long, the Norse Dwarfs became estranged from their kin, developing their own language and culture. Some clans became extreme isolationists, while others forged close bonds with tribes of barbarian humans that settled in those regions. Several great strongholds fought off Giants, Ice Drakes and Chaos monsters, and carved out an existence in those snowy peaks, including Kraka Drak, the renowned Dragon Hold, and its greatest rival, Khazid Ravik. They would not be reunited with the rest of their race until the Great War against Chaos, when Thorgrim Grudgebearer met them and brought their representatives to Karaz-a-Karak. As for the supposedly-lost Dwarfs that had settled to the northeast of the Worlds Edge Mountains on Zorn Uzkul, around -3900 IC they were heavily besieged by Chaos hordes and, considering themselves abandoned by their kinfolk and gods, they turned, in their need, to worship Hashut, the Father of Darkness. Thus, they became the twisted and resentful Chaos Dwarfs of Zharr-Naggrund. Since their discovery by their former relatives, their mention swiftly turns even ale-induced talk to brooding silence. Wood Elves know from the teachings of Durthu that during the Forgotten Season before they established themselves in Athel Loren, this great forest fared little better than Ulthuan's. The great greenwood that had once sprawled across the world was now but a fraction of its former size. The land where it had flourished bore the scars of fire and wild magic that had driven it back, and its borders had been assailed by Daemons beyond counting. But appearances were deceptive. As the great forest’s battle for survival had become more desperate, the natures of some of its spirits — particularly those of the striplings — had changed. Many were now wilder and more aggressive, perhaps even cruel, and their lithe and slender forms had grown much more suited to battle. Also, much of the forest that had been destroyed had been lost many years ago. The outpost that remained, nestled between the shoulders of the two great mountain ranges of the Grey Mountains and the Vaults, had held its ground for more than a decade, and was even now spreading outward once more. According to the myths and legends of Nehekharan humans, in the times before men, gods walked the world as mortals. It was believed by the ancient Nehekharans that when the Desert Gods first arrived in the Great Land of Nehekhara, they fought the armies of the vile Daemons and foul spirits that lurked there in great battles that lasted for many centuries. In numerous inscriptions, carved on the tombs and monuments of ancient cities, it is written that Ptra, the Sun God and King of the Nehekharan pantheon, led the final battle against the dark powers. Riding a resplendent golden chariot, he drove the darkness back; even the most powerful Daemon recoiled from the touch of his divine light. Ptra and the Desert Gods were victorious, and the evil ones retreated north to escape destruction. Legend says that the Desert Gods then transformed the lands into a verdant realm and ruled there for thousands of years until the birth of the race of Man. It is said that these people were so favoured by the heavens that Ptra himself bestowed upon them the fertile land that would later be called Nehekhara. In exchange for their worship, the deities offered to protect and watch over those that dwelt in the Great Land. With the covenant made, the gods nurtured the people of the nomadic tribes, teaching them how to read, write and build great cities. Thus was the Nehekharan civilisation born. For hundreds of years, Man had continued to evolve and spread through the world, to distant Cathay and Ind, across the steppes and Chaos Wastes of the far north and to the lands between the Great Ocean and Worlds Edge Mountains, which they would come to call the Old World. At the start of the Age of Man, with a few exceptions such as Nehekhara and Cathay, Mankind was a tribal society. Small, scattered groups lived in log dwellings and caves, hunting in the hills and forests, defending themselves as best they could against the vicious Beastmen and Goblins that dwelt beside them in the wild places of the world. Nothing is known about other human groups other than those two first civilizations and the fallen tribes of the Northmen before -500 IC, when the first non-Chaotic tribes came southwards and began to populate the Old World, fighting amongst themselves and against the Beastmen and Greenskins in order to establish their own realms. Very little is known of the Ogres of this time, save that they were a very young race at the time of the fall of the polar gates, and that by -2750 IC they lived a nomadic existence in the steppes to the west of Cathay. They remained there, maintaining ever less amiable relations with the civilised humans of the east (whose borders they stalked and penetrated as they grew numerous), until the Great Maw comet crashed into their homeland and burrowed through the world's core until it came out of the other side, forcing them to migrate westwards, to the Mountains of Mourn. Sources * Warhammer: Rulebook (7th Edition). ** pg. 126 ** pg. 134 * Warhammer Armies: Lizardmen (8th Edition) ** pg. 8 ** pg. 9 * Warhammer Armies: Daemons of Chaos (8th Edition) ** pg. 16 * Warhammer Armies: Dwarfs (8th Edition) ** pg. 8 ** pg. 9 ** pg. 20 ** pg. 25 * Warhammer Armies: High Elves (8th Edition) ** pg. 16 ** pg. 17 * Warhammer Armies: Tomb Kings (8th Edition) ** pg. 8 * Warhammer Armies: Wood Elves (8th Edition) ** pg. 17 * Warhammer Armies: Warriors of Chaos (8th Edition) ** pg. 6 ** pg. 14 * Warhammer Armies: Ogre Kingdoms (8th Edition) ** pg. 8 ** pg. 22 * Warhammer Armies: The Empire (8th Edition) ** pg. 16 es:La Caída del Imperio Slann Category:Chaos Incursions Category:Lizardmen Category:Daemons Category:High Elves Category:Dwarf Category:G Category:C